Orc’s Forbidden Claim (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss #33)

3. Saylor

3

SAYLOR

“ Y ou look happy,” I say, suppressing a yawn.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Wren asks flashing her beautiful smile.

I swear she’s even prettier now that she’s mated to the Zmaj. Honestly, it’s not fair. I looked at myself this morning and all I could see was the new wrinkles forming at the corners of my eyes and the downturn of my lips as if they were forming into a permanent frown. Even my hair looks dull and lank.

“It seems married life, or whatever you call it, suits you.”

She looks up from the vegetables she is sorting into their different baskets. Her eyes narrow as she frowns, studying me. I lower my head a little more to let my hair hide my face. I can’t stand up to her direct gaze. Wren is smart and observant, given half a chance she will see and know.

“You’re tired,” she says.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” I say, not looking up.

Her footsteps come closer. Damn it. I should have kept my mouth shut, now I’ve aroused her suspicion. My stomach gurgles knowing that I screwed this up. Lie. I need a lie. I know the next question she’s going to ask and worse, she’s going to be right in front of me, pulling my head up so I have to look into her eyes.

I’ve never been able to lie to her. Anyone else, sure, but not Wren. She always sees right through. And she’s never explained how. Bitch. She could at least tell me what my tell is. I grit my teeth, struggling to come up with a plausible lie. As I expected she places her hands on my shoulders, gently squeezing.

“Tell me,” she says, speaking softly so the others working in the room won’t hear.

Or at least they can pretend not to hear. Everyone is always watching and listening, the first rule of living in a gilded cage. All eyes and ears are on you. Always. The best they can do is pretend not to while it’s happening but once they’re away it’s all fodder for the rumor mill.

“It’s nothing, Wren,” I say, hating the pleading note in my voice.

I don’t say please, but I sure am thinking about it. She moves one hand to my chin and gently pulls it up until our eyes meet. Damn it, why do I have to be right? Because I know her too well and she knows me just as well.

Her frown deepens as she moves her head closer until our foreheads are resting against each other. She doesn’t speak, but the hand on my chin moves behind my neck. We stand together and it’s strangely comforting. I appreciate she respects me enough not to question me further, for now at least. I know she has questions, but she isn’t asking them here. I also know that once we’re alone all bets are off.

“Okay,” she says at last and lets me go.

I breathe a sigh of relief as we return to sorting the vegetables. I can’t help but notice that the others watch surreptitiously. They dart glances when they think they won’t be caught but I know this game too well.

I could tell her. If anyone is going to understand it’s her. She’s with a Zmaj, how could she judge me?

Except it’s not that easy. Yes, some human women have mated with the Urr’ki, but here in the Cavern Zmaj compound, the Urr’ki are looked down on in indescribable ways. The closest thing to it in my experience would be the way vagrants were viewed on the ship. Not that I ever really considered them myself. Life was too full of parties and being seen. What a worthless purpose my life had then. To be an object to look at and either admire or revile.

It all seems so pointless now, yet the group of us that survived continue to play the game. Wren and I talked about this, some at least. I know she was chafing at the gilded cage in which we live but even so, she continues to play her part.

Why? Why do humans need us? It certainly seems that they do. Even after the generation ship crashed into this inhospitable desert planet. Here, where everything you come across is trying to kill you as if the double suns and heat weren’t enough danger. And yet within a year or so the social structure and demands for our ‘roles’ are back. We use our ‘standing’ to avoid any real labor and contribute little or nothing of any real value. Our purpose is to be false idols that people can aspire to be like.

Stupid and worthless. When I look at myself in the mirror, that’s what I see. I know that I’ve never contributed anything worthwhile to society. Yes, we all have to work, but our group gets the easiest of jobs. Or if we happen to be assigned something we don’t want to do, it’s easy enough to get reassigned. Let some other poor schmucks take on the real effort.

Time slips past while Wren and I barely say anything to one another or anyone else. My mind is occupied with thoughts of how pointless I am and have been and how much better I feel when I am with Khiara.

If I declare my love for him, what’s the worst that could happen?

The Zmaj hate the Urr’ki. That’s a generational inbred hate that, as far as I can see, is beyond reason. They are barely accepting that the brothers and their Queen are here, and keep them under guard, if somewhat covertly.

The human woman who is with Khiara’s brother is shunned by pretty much everyone, though she does an amazing job of not letting it bother her. She could fit into our gilded cage with us for all she appears to let the whispers and dirty looks bother her. She does her assigned jobs, talks to almost no one, and keeps a smile on her face. It’s honestly admirable.

And what have I done? Ignored her like all the rest. I haven’t been mean like many, but what kind of testament is that to me? It’s not brave like Wren was when she pronounced her love for Sek’su.

But I was never the brave one. I’ve always been far more cowardly than her. Scared of losing my status. Losing the illusion that I matter. Because in my heart I know that I don’t. The only time in my entire life I’ve felt like I truly matter is when I’m in Khiara’s arms.

He makes my heart beat faster, my skin flush, and more than anything he makes me feel seen. Not the illusion. There is no facade with him. He sees me and when, if he judges me at all, he doesn’t find me wanting. All I really want is to be with him. Forever. But how? I’m too scared to take the leap.

“Lunch?” Wren asks, jerking me out of my swirling thoughts.

“Yes, I’m starving,” I say.

“Careful, you don’t want to say that too loud. You never know who is listening,” she admonishes gently, casting her eyes about the room.

I give her a tight smile and nod understanding. My weight has been a recent topic for the rumor mill. I am not blessed like Wren and Ziva with their perfect figures that they somehow keep no matter what they eat. My thighs are too big, my hips too wide, and I have way too much ass in comparison to my chest.

On the ship, I could have had it all fixed, but I never wanted to. I didn’t want to be a plastic person. The stress of keeping up a facade was already enough without playing further into it by modifying my body to meet some stupid, impossible standards. Wren walks to my side and then puts her hand on my arm.

“I’m sorry, that was mean,” she says.

“Yes,” I agree, “but it is also true.”

She grimaces and grunts, which is amusing because that’s definitely a habit she picked up from her mate. A lady grunting would be improper for anyone but her. The Ice Queen does what she pleases. She leads the way towards the lunch room but when we come to an intersection, she turns to the left, opposite where the food is.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Don’t worry,” she says.

Wings of fire dance in my stomach as icy fingers trail down my spine. Does she know? Is she about to call me out? What is this?

We move through the tunnels until she pulls aside a leather door. I walk through into what seems to be a barely used storage room. There are mostly empty racks around the walls and a few crates. Everything in the room is covered in dust, which had been conspicuously disturbed before we entered. Footprints lead to the back wall and around the area. And on that back wall, along a waist-high shelf, the dust had been cleared.

I turn to face Wren. She stares with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. She moves across the room, almost in slow motion, stopping right in front of me. Her eyes bore into mine and there is no doubt in my mind.

She knows.

“Spill,” she orders.